Waiting for the Wind
by asebi
Summary: TeFu. Fuji disappears one day leaving behind only a photo and no one knows where he's gone. Previously: Picture Perfect.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of its characters and will not be making any money from this.

**A/N:** It's been a while, I know, since I last wrote Tezuka/Fuji. This will be chaptered work, but it won't be updated as quickly as my other ones. I'll try aim for an update every one or two weeks, but know that my writing schedule will be dictated by school work. I've had this prologue written for some time now and wanted to write more of it before I posted, but I think posting it motivates me to write more more than anything else so here goes.

Note: Only the prologue is in First person. First person is Fuji. The rest will be in third person.

EDITED: 04/07/2013

* * *

><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

* * *

><p>I sit silently as I watch Tezuka pack. It was something I have long grown used to, not that that changed anything. I sometimes still wish he would make a little more time for me, but it seems that I am not very high on his list of priorities. I don't say anything, though, because I know he loves tennis, know he loves mountain climbing, know he needs that quiet peace after a particularly rowdy tournament. It was routine. It was Tezuka. But still, it would be nice to be invited along just once. It's not like that would stop me nor was it likely that Tezuka would object, and he hasn't, but I could tell from the way he acted that he didn't really want me there, didn't need me there. I don't attempt to go along anymore. It puts more strain on our already taut relationship than really help it.<p>

Saa…

"I'm going," I hear Tezuka say from the front door, "Lock up when you leave."

"Hmm…perhaps I should go too," I say, more to myself than to him. He turns sharply to look at me, but I merely smile back. Fifteen years together as friends, five of which as lovers, and he has yet to discern my many smiles while I can tell every frown and grunt from the next.

Tezuka says nothing, but I can see that frown. He thinks I want to go with him. I don't move. And he leaves.

I don't wonder about whether he loves me or not. I know he does. He just has a few other things he cares for, too. But it would be nice, nonetheless, to _feel_ it sometimes.

I turn and glance around his apartment. I've left a mess for him, my way of showing I care. He'll sigh when he opens that door and sees it. He'll call out to me. When he realizes I'm not in the apartment, he'll make a note to say something when we next meet. Glancing around, I decide maybe just once, just this once, I'll clean it. Just a bit.

**.x.x.**

He'll be gone for the weekend, I know, so I only have a day to put everything together. But there really isn't anything to _put_ together, is there? I hold the frame with a picture I took some years back. A work I have decided not to publish because it did not feel right to. I leave it propped on the meticulously clean kitchen counter. It will be the first thing Tezuka sees when he walks in, as it should be.

My things are already packed. The cab is still waiting downstairs. I turn around. And close the door. I leave Tezuka's apartment for the last time, locking up the doors behind me. Taking the keys off the key ring, I slip it into his mailbox as I walk past. This will be the last time.

Will he understand? Will he look for me? I can't help but hope that he will; I can't help but think that he won't.


	2. Photo 1

**Diclaimer:** Do not own Prince of Tennis. Still poor. Making no money.

A/N: Thought I should mention I haven't read/watch Shin Tennis no Oujisama. And I changed the title. Sorry if it causes confusion.

EDITED: 04/09/2013

* * *

><p><strong>~0x0x0~<strong>

* * *

><p>Tezuka lets the door swing open to his spotless, unlived-in-feeling apartment as he wrestles with the mail and luggage. He pauses a bit at the door and takes in his surrounding before finally stowing the mail into a little tray he keeps near the door just for that purpose—to be looked at later, of course. One year, Fuji has been gone and still Tezuka knows not where he's gone or why he's left. He has yet to get used to the cleanliness and order that has become of this place without Fuji there.<p>

Everything is still the same. He has changed nothing. The furniture are still the same ones Fuji had picked out because he was too busy to bother with it, arranged how Fuji liked it, complimented with trinkets Fuji picked up on his trips. Those are perhaps the worst reminder of all. They are the only things giving life to his otherwise quite lifeless apartment.

He makes a detour towards the kitchen where he stops to look at the last photograph—the last anything—Fuji has left in his place. It is a simple photo, one of Fuji's favorite's , he knows, even if it was never published.

He's seen the photo so many times, he has it memorized. It is one of the few portraits Fuji has ever taken that he actually likes. The picture is of a young woman—maybe in her mid-twenties—one Fuji met on his many travels, sitting behind the counter in a coffee shop. You can see the deep shadows under her eyes and tangles in her hair—she certainly hadn't planned on getting her picture taken—but her eyes are shut and face relaxed, holding a mug of coffee, and you can feel—physically feel—her joy in the small upturn of her lips.

On a post-it in the back (now in his wallet), he knows, scrawled in Fuji's distinctive hand were the words, "In each of our hands holds a key to happiness..."

At first he assumed it meant the coffee, but Tezuka knows that with Fuji, what you first assume is probably never the right thing.

**.x.x.**

Tezuka enjoys his coffee the way he does a nice cup of tea. It is a shame, then, that more times than not, his coffee is contaminated with additives that he would rather do without. The only way he enjoys coffee is if it is strong, bitter, and black. If Fuji is the one making it, though, he'll take it with a splash of milk. Nothing else. From anyone else, it has to be black.

The coffee shop he steps into before his morning run is fairly decent, but reminds him much too much of the chain stores that presented coffee the way one might a dessert—with too much whipped cream on top. But he sees the espresso machine and that gives him hope.

They have tea on the menu, but he doesn't bother getting any of those. English tea is decidedly quite different from Japanese tea and he much preferred the latter. At least coffee is relatively the same in all parts of the world.

He stands in line behind a young man in a suit who speaks rapidly into his phone, too fast for him to catch all the words for. He is proficient in English, but a little out of practice. When his turn comes in the line, he is too busy looking at the menu to notice the woman behind the counter.

When he pays for the coffee, he glances up at the woman and nearly jumped in surprise. Nearly, but doesn't.

After a year, he would recognize her anywhere. It is the woman in the photo.

**.x.x.**

Before he and Fuji started seeing each other, after they got together, and after Fuji left, Tezuka's life orbited around tennis. But somehow things were very different. The change between the before and the after had not been very noticeable, but the change after Fuji left was. There was an emptiness—a void—he couldn't really place or understand except that it was the piece that Fuji took with him.

The portrait of the woman was a photo Fuji took before they were together. He never questioned it, but knew that it was important to him.

Fuji loved—loves—taking pictures, this he does not doubt, but he always refused when Fuji turned that camera of his on him.

Seeing the woman now and remembering that photograph, he wishes he hadn't.

Somehow, it felt too personal. Now he thinks he knows why Fuji never sold it.


	3. Photo 2

Disclaimer: Do not own PoT. *looks in wallet* Still empty. Not making any money, as it turns out.

EDITED: 04/07/2013

* * *

><p>The coffee shop, he discovers on his second visit, is called "A Cuppa Happiness." It reminds him more of the last thing Fuji left him. In all common sense, Tezuka should have avoided the place; it was nothing but a reminder of what was no longer his. But he can't help but feel that there is something there, something Fuji wants him to see, but he is completely blind to.<p>

He orders his coffee, pays and leaves, the same way he did the other day, only this time, he isn't surprised when he sees her face.

**.x.x.**

She isn't as young anymore, at least in her thirties, he realizes the morning of his third visit. Her hair isn't tangled and her eyes have a healthy gleam to them. The haggard look of the photograph days are gone and, though much older, she looks more beautiful now. And much happier if not a little annoyed at the more trying customers.

Today, instead of leaving, he finds a little table, close enough to the counter, and sits down. He is a little later than the other times, opting to come after his run rather than before, and orders a breakfast to go with the coffee.

He eats it even though the English breakfast is not to his taste.

**.x.x.**

Visit five is when he first sees it, the thing (he is positive) that Fuji wants him to see. He recognizes it right away as a work of Fuji's. It isn't a portrait, but a sunrise, and one Tezuka will always remember.

**-o-o-o-**

_The jingling of keys outside is the only warning I get before the door opens—and before I've properly made a mess of the place, too._

"_Tezuka! You're home early," I say, ironic because my own flight home is supposed to arrive the day after tomorrow._

_To anyone else, Tezuka probably didn't seem to even react, but I know him better. There was a nearly imperceptible cock of his eyebrow that lets me know how not surprised he is to see me. It is all I get for my efforts._

"_Fuji," he says and heads towards his bedroom to put his things away and possibly to take a shower. Tezuka hates the feel riding a plane for long hours leaves him and almost always takes a shower the first chance he gets. Come to think of it, I am the same way—which is why I've left a present for Tezuka in the bathroom when I used the shower earlier._

_Too bad it is no fun when Tezuka doesn't even react. But I still like doing it nonetheless._

_When Tezuka comes out, the place is an ordered mess. Ordered, because I know where everything is; mess, because he doesn't._

_He doesn't say anything; he's long since grown used to my antics and mostly ignores it the best he can. Or he tries to. I know he'll clean it once I'm gone or when he needs to use a particular piece of space that I've already seen to. Sometimes it'll be too much for him and he'll turn towards me and say, "Fuji," in _that_ tone of voice with _that_ look that years ago meant I'd be running laps but now means I can't stay the night._

_I'm on the couch sorting through the little trinkets I picked up on my latest trip. My favorite is the carved figurines of what I assume is a man and woman, but looked a lot more like monkeys. They have little woven hats and hair made of coconut husk. I'm thinking of putting them next to the TV but that is where I've put Lakshmi._

_Tezuka raises an eyebrow at the Monkey statues but says nothing. I know he's wondering what it is I plan to do with them. I know he already knows so I don't bother answering his unasked question. Instead, I put the monkey on the shelf next to Lakshmi, Hindu goddess of wealth, prosperity, light, fertility, and whole host of other things._

_I look at Lakshmi again, not really wanting to move her. Standing up, I walk begin rearranging all the other trinkets I've picked up. In the end, I settle on placing the couple next to Lakshmi on the shelf directly above the TV. May Lakshmi grant them a child._

_I could feel Tezuka's steady gaze on me the whole time I am moving the souvenirs around. I turn and smile at him._

_He says nothing, but sits back on the couch. An invitation. It is the most I'll get out of him at the moment. I saunter over and straddle his legs. I let out a sigh of content and lean into him. His arms wrap around my waist and hold me still. We just sit like this not moving for a minute getting reacquainted with each other's presence. I breathe in and smile. How I've missed this. A few minutes later, I sit up and plant my lips gently on his, a quick brush really, before pulling away from his embrace._

_The kitchen looks a mess, but I know where everything I need to make a pot of tea is. He'll be wanting a cup, I know. He usually does. Tezuka is very strict with his tea. He doesn't tolerate anything in them that isn't supposed to be—sugar and lemon, for example—and frankly, I'm not much of a fan of them either, though I'm more tolerant of it and more willing to try it first, Tezuka outright refuses. Tea must be prepared right. It must never be boiled. I pull out the tea set he has in the cupboard just above the stove._

_Tezuka likes his coffee the same way, without anything added, but I've convinced him to try _café au lait_ once in a while. I read somewhere that always drinking coffee black is hard on the stomach._

_Tezuka walks over to the counter and clears a space. Most of the things scattered about are my works, photographs from my latest expedition. He picks one up and stares at it. I wonder which one he's picked up. _

_When I place the cup in front of him and sit down, I glance at the photo that has caught his eye. It is a personal favorite of a sunrise so beautiful I almost forgot to breathe._

_My smile brightens marginally and I say, "We should go together some time."_

"_Ah," is all the response I get, but I know he's agreeing. But I also know he means after all his tournaments and charities, after he finishes up his second degree, after everything else. Maybe when we're sixty and he's retired._

_I sigh, but my smile remains in place. We drink our tea in silence._

**.x.x.**

"Moshi moshi?"

"Oiishi."

"Tezuka?"

"I need you to send me something."

"What? But aren't you coming home—"

"I need the photograph in my kitchen."

"The one Fu—of the woman?"

"Yes. Send it as soon as possible, as fast as possible."

"But Tezuka, what—"

**.x.x.**

He hangs up on Oiishi with a sigh. What is he doing? He should just pack his things and go home tomorrow the way he had planned, but he's already called the airlines and had his flight plans rearranged. It shouldn't take too long, a few days, no more than a week.

He stands and walks over to the window. There isn't much of a view and Tezuka isn't really looking anyway.

A year later and he still considers himself attached to him. Did Fuji feel the same? But considering Fuji was the one who left, Tezuka couldn't be sure anymore.

Is this what he wanted?

_Fuji_.


	4. Photo 3

Disclaimer: Do not own PoT. Make no money.  
>AN: This is turning out to be quite a slow fic...

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.<strong>

* * *

><p>With the tournament over, Noor doesn't expect to see the Japanese tennis player again. He should be on a plane flying home, or wherever else, now. She'd recognized him the first time he stepped into her little shop; though she isn't much of a sports fan, her husband is. She was a little shocked at first—her shop didn't see many of the rich or famous—but it was nice, nonetheless, when he sat down that third day. She had not been the only one to recognize him, but that stoic, not-approachable air around him—the one he wore on the court—followed him off it as well and no one dared get too close. He came every day after that.<p>

She wipes down the counter preparing for another busy day. She looks up briefly to see someone jog by the front. She blinks a few times but there is no mistaking it. It is the tennis player.

**.x.x.**

He comes in a few more times, staying in the city after almost all the other players have left. Noor no longer takes his order. She knows it by heart. Now he goes directly to his seat and waits for it. She's quite quickly starting to think of him as a regular but knows he'll be leaving at some point. They haven't said much to each other, and he mostly gives one word answers anyway. Ordering his breakfast was the most she's ever heard from him.

His accented English reminds her of someone, though, someone she hasn't given much thought to since a year ago. Something about him reminds her of him, though why, she couldn't really say. They were completely opposite of each other—one gentle and smiling, the other stoic and always frowning. Is it the way they carry themselves maybe?

She looks up at the photograph, a sunrise she'll likely never see with her own eyes, but is still breathtakingly beautiful. She should have asked him where the picture was taken, but hadn't the chance to. That was a year ago, now.

**.x.x.**

_When he stepped into the shop that first time, she'd been on the first break she'd given herself since her father's funeral three months ago. She'd only just sat down when the little bells on the door chimed letting her know she had a customer. She'd nearly groaned out loud, but Emily, the dear, appeared right then to help him. She didn't hear his order—wasn't paying him any attention—and didn't notice him take a seat at the table next to the one she sat at. It wasn't until she heard the click of a camera that she opened her eyes. To her horror, he had a camera pointed in her direction—and that _smile_. She was about to demand him give her his film when he stood up and walked over. He took a seat across from her, still smiling, and introduced himself as a photographer from Japan and asked politely, albeit belatedly, for her permission to take a photo._

_He talked to her at lengths…or he drew her into talking at lengths, she didn't really remember. But by the time Emily left for home, they'd still been talking. His voice was soothing, calming. She didn't remember much of their conversation, just that she'd felt a weight lift off her chest and better than she had in months. He'd been smiling when he left. It was the first and last time she'd seen him. _

_She'd forgotten about the photo._

_Now, she stares at the man standing near the rear of the queue, his head turned upwards towards the menu. How long has it been? Six, maybe seven, years? When he reaches her, he orders a café mélange, smiles, then sits down after he's gotten it. He hasn't changed much, maybe shorter hair, and the beginnings of smile lines but other than that, age seemed to have little to no affect on his appearance. His English has also improved, she notices._

_She has no time to greet him, to say much of anything to him, since it is still the early morning rush, and he leaves before she has any time to. A part of her is relieved; she's no idea what to say to him. But a part of her is also disappointed. How long until his next visit? Another seven years?_

**.x.x.**

_The next day, as it turns out. He comes in everyday for the next week, never ordering the same thing, always leaving before she has a chance to speak with him. _

_On the Saturday a week from his first visit, he doesn't come in the morning. She's distracted the whole day and was right anxious by the time closing came around. He walks in five minutes before she closes carrying a large package wrapped in brown paper._

_He orders a galão and sits down at the table they first shared a conversation. He says nothing, but smiles charmingly at her. She makes herself a café au lait, the same one she was drinking then, and takes the seat opposite him. He asks how she's been and she tells him about getting married, her daughter, how well the shop has been. When he gets up to leave, he hands her the package._

"_I'd be honoured if you would put this up here," he said._

_After he leaves, she opens the package. It isn't the picture of her he took, but a sunrise. A beginning. _

_She hangs it up._

_He doesn't come the next day, but she hadn't expected him to._

**.x.x.**


	5. Photo 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Prince of Tennis in anyway.

A/N: Yes, it's been a year. Do I have a good excuse for not updating? No. Do I have a good excuse for why this chapter is so short? Yes, actually, it just felt like a good place to stop. I will have the next chapter up soon. Hopefully. In less than 2 weeks. Really. I'm so sorry guys.

The other chapters have been edited as well. Minor details have been changed.

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Beautiful…"<p>

The speaker is unfamiliar. His eyes are trained on the sunrise, Fuji's sunrise.

"It is, isn't it?" says the girl placing Tezuka's order in front of him. She wipes her hand on her dark green apron and smiles at the man.

The man glances at her and smiles. "Do you know the photographer? I'd like to see more of his work, if possible."

The girl shakes her head, "You'll have to ask Noor,"—she nods at the counter where the woman from Fuji's photo is working—"I haven't the slightest idea, sorry."

The man nods. For a second, Tezuka locks eyes with the man. He smiles politely at him, but says nothing. He moves into the line and Tezuka turns his attention back to the sunrise. Just what did Fuji expect him to do?

**.x.x.**

"Do you know the photographer of that photo you've got hanging there?" asks the man as he waits for his _ristretto_. Noor glances at the man before handing a cup of _latte_ to the woman next to him. The man is looking at her, letting her know he is speaking to her.

Noor turns to look at the photo. It's hung there as a part of her little café for nearly a year since the day its photographer left it.

She smiles but shakes her head. "It was given to me by a friend. I'm not sure what the name of the photographer is."

The man frowns, disappointed. Noor wishes she could help. It has never occurred to her to ask his name and to be honest, knowing or not knowing his name isn't important. Her relationship with the photographer is not defined by a name. They are not strangers nor are they friends. Their relationship is one that wouldn't change upon learning the other's name.

"That's too bad," the man says. It is, but Noor doesn't say anything more.

She turns back to the register where the Japanese tennis player, Tezuka, is now standing. He's pulling bills from his pocket but his eyes are on the photograph as well.

**.x.x.**

"Do you know?" the woman, Noor, asks him suddenly. Tezuka glances at her then the man. He is also looking at him now. He doesn't say anything at first, pulling out the correct change to pay for his half eaten breakfast.

As he pays, Tezuka looks up at the photo and says a name he hadn't spoken aloud in a year, "Fuji. Fuji Shuusuke."


	6. Photo 5

**Diclaimer:** I do not own Prince of Tennis.

**A/N: **Changes have been made to the first note (mentioned once in Chapter 1). I'll include the change at the end of the chapter. Also, I forgot about a few assignments I had to turn in at the end of this week since I was writing this...so it might be a bit longer for the next chapter...

* * *

><p><strong>.x.x.<strong>

* * *

><p>At half past five, well after the shop should have been closed, there are still half a dozen or so customers milling around inside. The sign on the door has yet to be flipped and the door yet to be locked. Tezuka pushes open the door making the little bells on it tinkle.<p>

"I'm sorry, we're closed at the—" Noor starts to say. She stops when she sees him. She blinks, looking surprised but says nothing more.

Tezuka moves to the table he sits at every morning, his table, the table with the best view of Fuji's photo and waits.

It's nearly ten minutes later that Noor finally stops and heads over. Now, there is only one other customer in the shop, a woman with a mountain of papers in front of her and a drink in her hand. A boy wearing an apron, a part-timer maybe, walks over to the door to flip the little sign from 'OPEN' to 'CLOSED' before starting on wiping down the tables.

Noor sits down and hands him a cup, another in her hand. It isn't black. Tezuka takes a sip anyway to be polite. It's a familiar taste, one he hasn't had in a long time. He pauses, and then sips again. Neither says anything.

After his third sip, she breaks the silence, "so…this is a bit different…"

"Aa," he says in agreement. He puts down the cup and reaches for the package he has brought with him. The package had arrived two days earlier and although he has removed it from the box, he has yet to remove the brown wrapping paper that hides the photograph. He pushes it towards the woman.

"Here," he says, "I think this was meant for you."

**.x.x.**

Noor looks at the man apprehensively. They didn't know each other and didn't really have any connections to one another except that of coffee shop owner and customer. She might see him as a regular, but the fact remains that they have never really spoken to one another before. The only question she has ever asked him aside from what his order would be was the question about her mysterious photographer from this morning.

Fuji Shuusuke.

She now knew his name, but really it didn't change anything.

Noor eyes the package suspiciously. It is flat and if she didn't know any better, it is a something framed…like the photograph. But why is this famous tennis player giving her anything? In what way does their relationship warrant gift giving…if it is even a gift.

He looks straight at her making her uncomfortable. Did he expect her to take it? His expression—or lack thereof—is unreadable. Maybe she should just call the police—famous person be damned.

After a bit of hesitation, she finally reaches over and takes the package. Carefully she opens it, not sure what to expect. If this man does anything or expect anything from her, she will call the Copper. Besides, she still has Adam and Emily there.

She glances up, but the man is no longer looking at her, his attention back on the photograph she has hanging on the far wall. He's been looking at it constantly for over two weeks now, she realizes. It then occurs to her that he might have brought whatever is in the package for a trade. She stops her unwrapping. She might not know the worth of the photograph Fuji has left her but she does know that the Tennis Player could probably afford something worth much, much more.

Taking a breath, she rips away the rest of the wrapping and turns the frame around to look at what piece of art this person thinks would be able to buy something as valuable to her as the Sunrise photo is to her.

It isn't what she expects.

Noor stares wide-eyed at her younger self. It's the photo she had expected a year ago. She looks up at him speechless.

"I think that was meant for you," he repeats.

She just nods.

**.x.x.**

There are tears in the woman's eyes now. She grabs a few napkins from the dispenser on the table and dabs at her eyes. Tezuka just waits for her to calm down.

"How…how did you get this?" she asks him.

"He's a…"—pause—"…friend," he says, finally. "You said he gave that to you?" Tezuka asks pointing at Fuji's other work.

"Yes," she answers, "about a year ago."

"I see." They both sit silent. Tezuka picks up his cup again but its content has gone cold. The part-timer has put up all the chairs, now, save the one at their present table and that of the other customer. He starts to wipe down the front counter and isn't paying either of the customers or his boss any attention.

A year…which means Fuji must have stopped here after he left. It's quite possible he had stopped here right after he left.

"Do you…do you know where he is?" he asks her hesitantly.

She shakes her head, "No. He left right after. I haven't seen him since."

Teuzka nods. He didn't think Fuji would have stayed for too long.

With a sigh, Teuzka stands up and heads towards the counter, reaching into his pocket for his wallet so he can pay for the drink he didn't order and has barely sipped at.

"Oh, no. Please, it's on the house," the woman says when she sees him pull out his wallet, standing up, but Tezuka ignores her. It wouldn't be right to drink coffee at a shop and not pay for it.

"Please, you've already shown me that photo. That's more than enough to cover any bill," she continues earnestly.

Tezuka shakes his head, meaning to tell her that it is only right that he pays for his coffee, but as he refolds the wallet, a bright sticky note catches his eye. He fingers it for a second before looking back at the picture of the sunrise. Did _that_ picture also have a note in the back?

Noor is standing next to him now. He turns to her.

"There is something I would like to check on the photo," Tezuka says slowly.

"What is it?" she asks him.

He hesitates before pulling out the little folded up sticky note from his wallet. He shows her the note.

"This was on the back of that photo," he tells her. He points at the one he just gave her.

She takes the note in her hand, looks at it, then at him, before handing it back.

"Adam!" she says addressing the part-timer, "I need your help for a second."

**.x.x.**

Noor looks at the note then at the man. The note didn't really mean much to her besides being very nice and hopeful words. That didn't seem to be the case for Tezuka though. As she hands it back to him, she watches as he carefully puts it back in his wallet, gently stroking the note once more before closing the wallet and putting it back in his back pocket.

"Adam," she calls, "I need your help for a second."

"Yeah?" She nearly sighs at his reply.

"Come help me bring that photo down," she says instead, pointing. The boy nods, wrapping his ear buds around his neck.

Together, they manage to remove it from its place on the wall and set it down on a table nearby. He had to carry it for a few seconds as she removed the chairs, but they'd managed.

"Did you want me to help put that one up?" he asks nodding at the photo Tezuka brought.

"No, but I'll need your help putting this one back up later," she says.

He nods and goes back to the front counter where he begins to bug Emily as she cleans out the espresso machine.

Tezuka comes over and helps her as she takes off the back cover. She isn't sure if she really thinks there is anything in the back or not, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

She sees it before he does—the cover blocking his view—and reaches in to pull it off. She reads the words scrawled on the sticky note before handing it over to the man. The words, like the ones on the other sticky note, meant nothing to her. They are not _meant_ for her at all. She wonders if they mean anything to the stoic man.

**.x.x.**

Tezuka takes the slip of paper from her. It isn't bright pink like the other is. This one is a light purple. But like the other one, there are words written in English on the back.

He reads it once, twice, three times, so he remembers the words—has it memorized—like he has the other note memorized.

He vaguely hears the woman tell the boy to help her put the photo back up but he pays them no mind.

Is this a clue? Was the other one a clue?

"_Compelling you towards your goal and me towards mines…"_

* * *

><p>AN (continued): The new line is

_"In each of our hands holds a key to happiness..."_

Also, I wanted to ask how you feel about the short chapters...I'm not likely to change it since I like writing short chapters, but I wanted to know...


End file.
